


Left Hanging

by blackswans22



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Cirque du Soleil DBZ style, F/M, Human AU, Secrets, Vegebul, Vegeta and Goku actually being civil, acrobats, all the drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21918526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackswans22/pseuds/blackswans22
Summary: Being part of an acrobatic troupe was like being part of a family. You fight and argue but when the performance stakes are high, everyone watches out for one another. For Vegeta, these were performers he could depend on. Until an old teammate makes her unexpected reappearance after nearly 2 years with a secret that was sure to upheave the delicate balancing act he called life.*Proud Nominee for the Prince and the Heiress Awards 2020*
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 150
Kudos: 135





	1. Freefall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New fic that was floating around in the ether and finally made it to writing.
> 
> Thank you Rogue_1102 for beta-ing this. 
> 
> I'm also on Twitter @blackswans2222
> 
> Enjoy! Happy reading!

The din of the crowd below hardly registered as he took in concentrating breaths, the sweat cooling his skin where, underneath, his muscles screamed soreness from the evening's exertions. His skintight dark blue spandex glittered with tinseled accentuation at his abdominals, quads, and biceps although it was unnecessary as the twitching tissues had been honed over the years to the perfect embodiment of strength and power. It was the last performance of the season. He drew in a steady stream of thick, warmed air in relief while steeling himself to put on the best show he knew he could.

The small, short platform beneath his feet held sturdy as he adjusted his toes to curl over the edge while looking down as he always did to survey the enraptured audience, he thrust up his hand dramatically, flaring his fingertips to the ceiling as the neon blue and white lights beamed down at his place atop the tallest tower in the stadium. The crowd roared to life once more in suspense.

A trail of saline dripped from his dark hairline down the side of his face and he restrained the urge to wipe it, wetting his hands that needed to stay dry. He had one more for the night, the most daring and fear-inducing, although he hadn't felt fear from heights or his performances in years. The pride that bloomed with the watchful eyes of faceless admirers for his talent and acrobatic skill made it all worth it. He was able to do what he loved, entertaining others with his daredevil activities that often threatened his life if not performed to disciplined perfection.

He drew his gaze to centralize on the man across the ring, on a lower platform, patiently waiting for his cue. The taller and more robust man costumed in an accenting orange jumpsuit looked like a bodybuilder with his stature and heavy muscle tone but had a way of grace when necessary if not a little clumsy during practice. The blue-clad man, staring down, nodding his head with purpose, held no fear of misstep as the taller man could be absolutely dependable when the stakes were high.

His Adam's apple bobbed once as the jolt of adrenaline coursed through his veins as he raised his other hand, the mouths of those below held agape in wonderment.

The orange man unharnessed the swinging bar from its clip and tossed it evenly across the expanse of unnetted air. Lights followed it's slow progress to the man at the highest peak. He waited for his opportunity, his moment. He had fallen to the nets tens of times during training, but not tonight. Although he had done the feat a hundred times before, he never took the performance lightly. He wouldn't, he couldn't fall.

The bar swung away then made its gradual descent back to him. He saw the orange man's breath hitch then hunker on his haunches in anticipation of a safe execution.

The blue-suited man bent down with focus like a spring wound too tight, ready to burst from its resting state. A glimmer on the metal's textured surface ignited the synapses in his joints and muscles to fire as he found his opening. A thrill as he heard the familiar collective gasp from below.

Vegeta held out his deft hands, leapt. And soared.

* * *

He woke the next morning with jackhammers drilling on his skull and pulsed behind his eyes. Groggy from a night of celebratory drinking for another successful season past, the rest of his team lay around him in various states of post blissful inebriation, dozing in chaotic disarray around the hotel suite the troupe decided to rent at the last minute. The times when they all left their West city residences were at the beginning of the season for their nationwide tours. The excitement of returning home was felt throughout the whole troupe as the last couple of shows were held at their hometown stadium.

The only one to make it to a bed, Vegeta kicked off the sheet that tangled around his ankles, noted the smudges of eye makeup coating the white linen pillowcase smeared from the previous night's performance and went out in search of a caffeinated espresso shot although, at this point, he would have preferred an IV drip of the stimulant.

Typically first to rise, even after finally falling asleep only 4 hours prior as indicated from the '9 am' glowing on his phone's screen, he carefully ambled over the bodies of his partners strewn about on the floor. Krillin, their promoter, lay curled up in a ball on an accent chair, snoring with another acrobat Yamcha at his feet, half under the chair, a stream of drool puddling on the maroon carpet. Launch and Chichi, the group's best tumblers who did tandem trapeze, flopped over each other, seemingly fighting over a single pillow as they slumbered cheek to cheek. He furrowed his brows marginally noticing Piccolo, the only other acrobat more withdrawn than himself, had either evicted early or made the wiser choice in going home to his own bed.

Goku was the hardest to get around as he appeared to have barely made it into the suite before passing out right in front of the door. Vegeta managed to roll his drunken heft away from the portal as the big doofus grunted and exhaled about pancakes in his sleep, a goofy grin etched on his face.

Closing the door gingerly behind him, Vegeta swayed some as he found the inhouse cafe on the first floor and ordered a small mug with 4 shots of espresso. His vision blurred while rubbing the sockets blearily, attempting to wake up further, the waft of bitter coffee teasing his nose.

After some of the noise in his head died down, he looked down and thanked his sober self for having the forethought to dress in sweats, not to hit the street in his costume. Dumb choices he would have made in his early years while also parkouring haphazardly when the company was still young. It had been over six seasons with the main group, and while some had come and gone, finding success or failure with bigger names than theirs, the main six had stuck it out as a band of misfit talent within the modestly popular Master Kami's Dragon Acrobatics.

His phone rang as he took the last sip of coffee, dredging the final drops with a sigh. It was too early. Begrudgingly, he answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Vegeta, good, you're up. I tried the others. No answer. Listen, good job on the show. Great season, right?" The high spirited voice from the company's owner, Roshi, clipped in exuberance.

Vegeta refrained from verbally agreeing as the old man tended to drag conversations into unsavory territory if allowed. He merely grunted in acknowledgment.

"I assume you have the rest of the team with you?"

Another grunt as he got the eye of a passing cafe worker and waved his cup for more.

"Bring them down to the gym. There's someone new being added to the roster."

Slipping a ten across the table as the worker brought him another steaming mug, Vegeta rolled his eyes in irritation.

"We just finished." he voiced exhaustively, "We get a week off, remember?"

"I know. I'm not asking you guys to begin training for the next one but I want everyone to get reacquainted."

"Reacquainted?" He inquired.

"Be there at noon. See ya later." The call ended abruptly as the slow realization dawned on him that someone from before was returning. Probably with his tail between his legs, Vegeta surmised with a smirk. He picked up the mug and headed upstairs to the unfortunate troupe who would have a rude awakening once Vegeta threw open the shade on the window and let the new day burn all their irises.

* * *

They all yawned impatiently, waiting for the moment when they were dismissed to separate houses for much-needed physical recovery. The airplane hanger turned gymnasium housed a large blue mat that swept across the floor like a motionless sea and rested weights, balance beams, vaults, and ropes dangling from the ceiling. In the far corner, two identical platforms stood on red poles craning to the skylights with trapeze bars and highwire, a limp safety netting extended between them. The group's collective griping and sneers were aimed at Vegeta who stood a short distance away from his teammates, his arms crossed.

A door behind them opened loudly and echoed in the empty air as all heads turned to watch Roshi, a once remarkable trapeze artist, now slow-paced old man, amble over with a grin.

"Nice to see you all made it." He remarked, his hands behind his back as he hunched. He brought up a weathered hand to adjust the red-rimmed sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Some of us would have liked to have this meeting tomorrow," a tired Chichi groaned while Launch rested her head on her partner's shoulder, her eyes closed.

"C'mon guys," a cheerful Goku exclaimed, always the optimist even on 4 hours of sleep. "We get a new person! Someone to train!" He shook Launch's arms with exuberance, annoying her in the process.

"I wish all of you had Goku's enthusiasm." Roshi chuckled. "I don't know if Vegeta told you but we do have a new person and they've been here before."

The collective all turned their curious attention to Vegeta. He, in turn, looked off nonchalantly.

Roshi laughed as the curiosity changed to glares at the withheld information. "She'll be here in a moment." He added but then glanced over quickly a the metal door snapped shut. "Or now."

A blue-haired woman beamed, her hand still on the worn chrome threshold. "Hi, guys." She said with hesitant excitement.

"Bulma!" Chichi screamed and raced over, clutching her past friend into a tight, giddy hug which was reciprocated earnestly. The rest of the groups ran to meet her with joyful welcome.

Only one hung back in stunned silence. Vegeta dropped his arms at his sides and observed the newest recruit. An old wound opened up as a lump stuck in his throat. She caught his eye through the frantic limbs of her old friends.

She gave a soft, tight-lipped smile. He frowned darkly at her unexpected reappearance.

* * *

Art By Amartbee, 2020


	2. Assigned Teams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rogue_1102 makes one hell of a beta.

Bulma chewed on her already shortened thumbnail as she waited for her co-performers to arrive on the first day of training. With her other unoccupied hand, she pinched at her skintight shorts that had bunched up on her thighs and adjusted the fuchsia tank top, emblazoned with the Master Kami's Dragon Acrobatics logo from 5 seasons ago with twitchy fingers.

She had managed to keep in shape, her gymnast's body reacclimating steadily from the long hiatus while the others indulged in their short respite. For them, the week off most likely consisted of drinking, cheating on their strict regimen of health foods, and minimal exercise. Bulma took that time to ready herself for the tortuous road ahead if she were to be performance ready once the new season began.

She had made the decision to reapply to her old career a few months before and prepped through self-disciplined workouts knowing full well what was going to be required of her if she was permitted back. Getting the call that she would be wholeheartedly welcomed, she met with her old mentor Roshi, but insisted on particular stipulations prior to signing another contract with the company.

" _I'm a little older," she stated sullenly, resenting the sting to her vain constitution with the admission, "so I may not be as quick as I was before."_

" _I understand. But during our test period, I witnessed first hand your capabilities. You are still very agile and flexible to perform your acts. Don't tell me you're too old. You're 24. You've got quite a few years before we see you start to slow down." Roshi insisted through the compliment._

" _I've also gained some weight after leaving. I don't know if I can get back to where I was before."_

" _And with strict exercise, you should be able snap back. You are nothing if not determined."_

" _Haven't been on the silk in a while." She fidgeted in her seat, the list of obstacles seemingly getting longer the more she thought about it._

_His old joints crackled as he leaned forward. If he felt any discomfort from old age, he didn't show it. Instead, Roshi removed his glasses and peered at her assuredly with watery, hard-set eyes. "Bulma, are you trying to talk yourself out of joining? I know what you're capable of. If you want to come back, you can. Your circumstances don't affect that. You were an incredible performer before. I know you have the potential to be incredible again."_

_She let out a persuaded sigh and nodded, confident enough to prove her mettle once again. "I want to come back. I only request that I can leave at 5 every day. And I need one day a week off. I'll make up for the lost time." She caveated._

_He pondered her requests for a moment before putting the shades back over his eyes while extended his hand. "If you're okay with lowered pay until you've put in the time and work, we have a deal. You gotta earn back what you were making before."_

_She took his handshake with a smile._

_Roshi returned to his chair, pleased with the agreement but tilted his head with concern as her blue brows pulled together apprehensively. "What's wrong now, Bulma?"_

_Her mouth set to a thin line. "I need you to promise you won't say anything. To anyone. This discussion stays between us?" She asked and he nodded in understanding of her need to keep certain things secret._

" _I won't tell a soul."_

She appreciated the owner's confidentiality and discretion. And subsequently worked her ass off in preparation to be a Dragon, from the bottom up.

Alone in the gym, for the time being, Bulma continued to bite her nails to assuage simmering nervous energy in her stomach. She made the effort to turn the anxiousness into excited jitters, compelling her forward onto the equipment with a burst of adrenaline. She jumped up and treaded a dainty path across one of the worn balance beams, utilized her toned biceps to hoist herself up onto the pull bar, then to vault down with ease before sending herself into a full sprint across the empty mat, executing two flawless front handspring flips, the mat bouncing under her palms.

With her landing stuck gracefully, hands pointed to the sky in personal triumph, she heard a chuckle behind her and was greeted with two smiling faces.

"I see you haven't lost your touch. You're still fast." Launch remarked as she put her voluminous wavy blue-black hair into a bun.

"Thanks," Bulma replied embarrassed at the compliment, leaning into her other friend when Chi Chi came over to link her arm. She smiled at her teammates, grateful at how receptive all of them had responded to her return. Well, most of them.

A derisive scoff burst the happy bubble the girls had been enjoying as Vegeta stalked over from his silent observance near the entrance to the men's locker room.

Bulma glanced around, confused as to how he'd gotten in without her noticing. She was sure there was only one way in, one way out. She was even more sure that she had been alone only moments before as situational cognizance slowly dawned.

Her face must have given away her thoughts when Chi Chi chimed in, "Vegeta's always here before the rest of us. He was probably living here all week. He has nothing else going on in his life besides practice and yelling."

"I wouldn't have to yell if you were better and put in more work." His reply flippant.

Chi Chi had a biting retort all planned from the fire in her eyes when Bulma interrupted the prepared jab. "You saw me practice." She realized.

He smirked. "Yes, I did." He scrutinized her under dark eyelashes. "You need _a lot_ of work, too."

Taken aback and thoroughly insulted, both women glared maliciously while the rest of the team arrived nearly all at the same time, the front door banging against the metal wall in loud exuberance. Thinking it better to not be fired the first day from breaking his judgmental nose, Bulma changed her mind and decided to just ignore him.

"Man, I'm gonna miss bread." Yamcha lamented, causing a collective groan to emit in depressed and hungry agreement. He sat himself down on the mat to begin his stretches, rolling his ankles and pointing his toes up and down while keeping his long mane of black hair out of his face.

"Why'd you have to remind me." Goku rebuked with a mournful face, the usually loose, blue athletic sweatshirt pulled somewhat tight over his arms and broad chest. He sighed, taking a seat next to his teammate and mimicking the warmup routine. "Ramen. I ate so much ramen. Delicious, delicious ramen." He salivated at the memories.

"Restricted meal plans begin today, team," Roshi called over, a roster sheet in his elderly hands. Their head choreographer Whis, sauntering behind just as cordial and elegant in a lilac tracksuit as Bulma remembered him to be. Although, he seemed taller as he towered over most of them with a sparkling, carefree grin.

"Let's start by assigning partners for new routines." Roshi began, scratching his white beard and smoothing out the paper. Bulma itched with anticipation over who she'd be paired with, secretly hoping it'd be the girls,

"Chi Chi and Launch on high wire."

Or Yamcha with his encouraging compliments boosting her ego. Not to mention their past romantic history turned to loyal friendship was certainly a plus,

"Piccolo and Yamcha on rings today."

Or Goku with his cheerful optimism,

"Goku, I want you to do high bar alone." The old man directed. She watched her friends taking their assigned places across the gym floor.

Running out of options, Bulma cringed when she realized who was left.

"Vegeta, I want you to train with Bulma. I think she'll do well under your guidance."

"No." Came his blunt response. She didn't even have enough time to form an opinion one way or the other as her gaze searched his face which appeared moderately surprised that he, himself, answered so abruptly.

"What do you mean, no?" Roshi inquired, adjusting his sunglasses to better observe his hostile team member.

Vegeta's gaze directed at the old man, unwavering, as he drew in a defiant breath, doubling down on his blurted reply. "I mean no. She can go with someone else."

Roshi opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a small gruffly sounding, snigger that disturbed the tense air. Piccolo edged next to Bulma, peering down at the shorter, more resistant man with an upturned brow. "You must really be intimidated." He chuckled darkly.

"What?" Vegeta seethed, looking as though the hair on the back of his neck was standing up from personal offense.

"I've only noticed that Bulma comes back after more than a year and clearly must have some incredible skills to show us or Roshi wouldn't have hired her. I didn't realize til' now how threatened you must be that she'd show you up. Are you afraid she'd still be better than you at ropework and highwire? Like old times, right?" The dark-skinned man's veiled taunt, exacerbated by the sly glint in his black eyes, struck a nerve for Vegeta's face to scrunch into a teeth-grinding sneer. He clenched and unclenched his fists before stalking off in a provoked snit. Taking that as a conceding victory, Bulma smiled up at her defender as Piccolo gently pinched her arm and winked.

"Don't worry about it, he'll come around. We got your back." He added protectively. "You're part of the team again. We're family."

Grateful for Piccolo's supportive words, Bulma felt she didn't need verbal justification to reason her way into rejoining the team. She was confident her abilities would show for themselves.

* * *

Bulma didn't know it was possible to sweat nearly 2 gallons of water from her pores in 6 hours. After being openly disregarded as a partner earlier in the morning, Vegeta called her over gruffly to begin rope climbing only to endure his chastising from the floor for being too slow, to practice parallel bars where he snapped at her further for not executing landings to his standards, and to then do trampoline flips, where his constant barking to not 'look like an uncoordinated cow' grated on her nerves. She noticed how he refused to let her on the silks. He probably remembered that was her place to shine.

She spent the entire afternoon biting her tongue rather than lash back. She could have it out with him. Scream back and alter the clear power dynamic he was setting. However, she chose to remain internally resentful and silent. At least until the end of the day.

Taking one last swig of water before upturning the remainder of the bottle's contents over her head, she rested on the ground in the cool air outside the hanger. She rubbed a towel over her face exhaustively as it absorbed the wetness from her forehead and dripping ponytail. The soft tinkling of keys made her look up expectantly. She glowered in boiling irritation when she recognized the brow-beating ass the keys belonged to.

"Hey!" she yelled, meeting Vegeta's unsurprised glance in the unpaved parking lot. Her muscles ached with every step but that didn't stop her from stomping over and prodding his pectoral with an angry finger. "What the hell, Vegeta. You have some nerve treating me like that. You are such a jerk." She spat, last bit of restraint broken as he stood seemingly unfazed by her tirade.

"I wasn't the one that left and got fat and lazy." He retorted curtly.

"You're just mad you got paired up with me. I didn't choose to work with you!" She pointed out, placing her hands on her hips.

The flash of rage overtook his indifference. "Yea, I am! Why would I want to work with a clumsy, overweight, untrained former teammate." He glared.

"Well, deal with it because I'm not leaving!" She spat back vehemently.

"Fine! Don't! Just know, I'm going to make your life a living hell!"

"What is your problem?"

Gritting his teeth, he slammed his hands in the car's hood. "My problem is you! You vanished for two years-"

"A year and seven months." She corrected under her breath.

He narrowed his eyes to slits as his voice dropped to a harsh, low octave. " _Two years_. And now you've come back expecting open arms? I won't do it."

"You are acting like a child. Why are you being like this? We used to get along-"

"We used to get along because we were sleeping together. Then you left."

"And why did I leave, Vegeta? You had commitment issues. We were dating for like a year! You lied and told me we could be together. I thought we were more than just a fling." Hints of pain clipped on her tongue as the memory of their past dredged up.

"You thought wrong." He replied coldly. Bulma couldn't help the chill in his words freezing its way down to her bones. She hadn't thought of their break up with animosity in a long while. She surmised enough time had passed for wounds to scar over and they could be friends. It was evident he felt differently.

She heard him sigh and after a few moments, he leaned against the car to collect himself to a semblance of civility. "And I didn't lie. I told you I wasn't ready, then. You pressured me."

"I didn't pressure you." She whispered with flimsy conviction. This was the first she had heard him identify an issue clearly without callously screaming in circles to then be left unresolved.

"Yes, you did. We fought constantly. You asked me to move in with you and wouldn't take no for an answer. I distinctly remember that day when I said I wasn't going to, you told me to leave, which I did, then was greeted with a _very_ large trash bag full of my clothes, covered in pink paint that you threw over the balcony… to explode on the sidewalk." He reflected resentfully.

"I am sorry about that." Her gaze drawn to the side with remorse held back for too long, an admission that took nearly two years to materialize.

"Then you disappeared. And I hadn't heard from you until a week ago." His tone shifted, a painful edge to his wording that expressed itself more visibly in his dark eyes.

"We had more good times than bad." She tried to reason as she swallowed the guilt.

"Not the way I remember it." He replied, his gaze purposefully aimed over his shoulder.

"I'm not that person anymore."

The sharp tsk from his disbelieving mouth caused her to involuntarily flinch. "It doesn't matter. What could possibly have changed from then until now that you feel so reformed?" He replied, although he seemed disinterested in her answer.

"More than you think." She remarked in hushed honesty.

"Why did you come back?" He asked with veiled accusation in his tone.

"I missed the team. I missed being here."

"You knew I'd be here, though."

"I did." His eyes finally came up to meet hers and searched without much expression. She wished there was something more she could say; to convince him she no longer harbored vindictive or hateful feelings toward him.

She watched him shake his head with a drawn-out sigh and get into his car. "You shouldn't of come back." His response dismissive.

Dirt kicked up as he drove off, creating clouds of dust in his wake to swirl around her, gritty and harsh on her physical senses but not as painfully as the dull ache that rested on her heart.


	3. Lingerings and Stubbornness

"Good God, woman," he grumbled as he observed her perform the same task on the balance beam for the past hour. Vegeta's arms were crossed in questioning perturbation as he surveyed her form for the 10th time that session. He could practically feel her dramatic eye roll aimed at him while his gaze fixated on her waistline.

Six months on, six months off in the performance circuit had always been perpetually intensive and stressful. The steady, daily routine of pre-workout stretches, followed by high bars, beams, vaults, weight lifting, swimming and meals of baked, skinless chicken without oil or flavor pushed the acrobatic troupe into the third week of practice for the upcoming touring season. In spite of all the luxury comforts restricted to training and dieting, Vegeta couldn't quite figure out why Bulma was having the hardest time considering the obvious progress she was making in such a short amount of time.

"What are you bitching about now?" She retorted while adjusting the protective, elastic grips on her hands and hoisting them above her head once satisfied with the fit. Physically, she was trim and toned, showing distinct muscle definition where it counted. In the back of Vegeta's mind, he considered if she was cheating.

"I've seen you do 20 pull-ups in a minute, 50 squats in two, and yet this," he pinched her side where muscle met softened flesh under her thin, sequined tank top tucked into even tighter athletic pants, "won't go away." He stitched his brows with irked scrutiny as she stood above him, poised and centered on the balance beam.

"I don't know how anyone puts up with you." She huffed under her breath as she jerked away from his fingertips. "Women age differently than men, Vegeta. I'm not 19 anymore." She emphasized as she bent her arms and torso backwards in a slow, even arch to connect with the beam at her heels and pull the rest of her body over itself with a controlled exhaled.

He watched her lithe frame execute the maneuver flawlessly, ending with a self-satisfied grin. As her spotter, he directed his attention to checking her feet as she stood up straight, arms held above her head with perfect, pointed fingers. She had twisted her ankle the previous week and was currently sporting a tight Ace bandage encasing her entire left foot under black, leather-soled slippers. He was there to make sure she didn't injure herself further like 'an inattentive klutz'. Her thick skin seemed to make up for her weak ankles.

"If you keep holding onto that excessive flab, we're going to have a hard time getting you into costume." He replied flippantly in an almost helpful manner if it hadn't been laced with insult.

"Keep talking. Just be careful what you say or karma's gonna bite you in the ass." She stuck out her tongue as she repeated another controlled backwards arch on the beam.

He ignored her comment with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "Not to mention, I won't be able to lift you for most of the acts. Now, how safe is that?" He smirked matter-of-fact into her face as she dropped to his eye level, viewing him upside down. Her feet came over her middle fluidly, she stood and smirked back at him from atop her perch.

Clearly fed up with his dickish attitude, she reached her arms out and fell to him as he grasped her around her waist reflexively, picking her up with minimal effort to bring her against his chest. Her expression curled up into a simpering grin as proof against his claim while her arms wrapped around the back of his neck.

The muscles in his jaw tightened while her hands curled into his hair at his nape. After the ex-couple's grievances had finally been aired out several weeks before, ending with his abrupt departure, neither remarked on their last words, establishing an unspoken agreement to just move on and field more productive ways of frustrating the hell out of each other through repeated, arduous routines. The tension between them, however, was only made worse with contact.

The press of her body contoured to his ignited small, reminiscent pangs that prickled across his shirtless chest as she slid down to the mat, her tank top riding up with her descent. The triumphant glint in her smiling eyes gradually receded with the more unpleasantly familiar sensation of loss as Bulma pulled away from him unexpectedly quick, regaining her senses to keep things straight forward while pulling her shirt down with embarrassed, quick fingers.

He watched her cheeks flush modestly as she opened her mouth to speak. The words never came as they were cut in on by a perspiring but cheerful Launch bounding over to wrap her arms around Bulma's neck in a friendly hug.

"Hey! I don't mean to interrupt… whatever this is, but Roshi told me to tell you it's your turn to do the highwire." She eyed the two with her tongue between her teeth.

Vegeta scoffed, picking up his shirt and pulling it tight over his chest. "Why didn't he come over and tell us, then?"

"He didn't want to intrude on your… bonding." She whispered the last word with a wink. He stared off at the ceiling so as to not shoot his daggerous eyes at her.

Clearly privy to the tension between the two partners, she giggled mischievously into her hands and flitted away to the lockers. Vegeta grumbled. Being in a close-knit group, the little side-eyes and tittering comments were mildly irksome in the beginning. At this point, it was beyond annoying.

Bulma groaned, seemingly realizing their private moment wasn't as private as she hoped, taking a swig from her water bottle. They both avoided eye contact, with Bulma giving a shy smile to the floor. This hadn't been the first time they had an awkward embrace while practicing since she'd been back and as much as he was curious to know her side, Vegeta made the conscious decision to maintain professionalism despite the lingering sensations evoked across his skin.

The tightrope was stretched across nearly a quarter the length of the airplane hanger and suspended 30 feet above ground with a less-than-forgiving nylon safety net positioned underneath.

Vegeta stood with half interest, observing Bulma climbing the red pole deftly, the paint chipped from overuse, to a platform large enough for two with Chichi helpfully taking her hand at the top.

The raven-haired trapezist smiled encouragingly, grabbing the safety harness and holding it out for Bulma to put on, much to the confusion of the blue-eyed professional gymnast.

"I don't need that." He heard his charge say incredulously, despite the noise from the other teammates who were diligently practicing around him. He crossed his arms in vexation.

"Stop being difficult, woman. Put on the harness!" He yelled up brusque and loud enough to cause both women to look down, startled.

"I don't need it." She called down as Chichi tried to reason in her ear.

"This is your first time back up there. That drop is gonna hurt like hell. Put it on!"

He saw her place her hands on her hips in dramatic defiance. He remembered that look annoyingly clear. "I don't need it, Vegeta. If memory serves me right, I distinctly recall that I was the best tightrope and aerial silk performer in this company. Without a harness!" She screeched back, while Chichi held her protectively about the waist to keep her from slipping in her heated state.

He rubbed his fingers into his eye sockets before glaring back. "You have limited options at this point. You can either go without the harness and fall into that net like an ungraceful, flailing idiot due to the loss of TWO YEARS experience or you can put on the damn harness and fall the thirty feet like a flightless bird who at least has some pitiful control over her movements."

"You think I'm gonna fall? I never fall!" She screamed indignantly.

The hanger dropped into near silence as the rest of the troupe stopped their training to turn their attention to the obnoxious ruckus at the highwire station. Goku and the others slowly meandered over and were promptly ignored by Vegeta becoming more and more irritated by the obstinate woman on the platform.

"You are going to fall! So just wear the harness!" He barked, the veins on his forehead prominently displayed.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Vegeta may have a point. C'mon. Just put on the harness, Bulma." He heard Chichi rationalizing. Vegeta had all but made the final steps to the beam to put the damn thing on her himself then ceased as he observed the stubborn aerialist wretch the harness from her friend's grip, put it on aggressively and extend her hands up in mock surrender as her teammate adjusted the straps. He waited.

"20 bucks says she's not gonna fall." he heard Yamcha offer, sidling up to his right with a confident grin. "She's in too deep, now."

"She's probably up there altering gravity to her advantage just out of spite," Piccolo commented under his breath while giving Vegeta a crooked glance.

"We shouldn't bet on her falling, guys." Goku chimed in, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. A freshly showered Launch nodded in agreement, her dark wet hair dripping at the ends onto her shoulders.

Without missing a beat, Vegeta continued to look up with unemotive expectancy. "I'll take that bet. She's gonna fall."

After several repetitive safety checks and a frustrated huff to her overly cautious support, Bulma made it a point to not look down at her assembled audience and placed a tentative foot on the rope's rigid surface. It gave way with some slack as she added more weight, the thin and flexible leather-soled slippers curving around the wire and under her arch. She added her other foot in front of the first, perfectly parallel, and became completely suspended over the netting, half a foot from the starting platform. Her arms extended from her body in perfect balance as she took another step.

Stillness overtook the troupe as they followed her assured foot placement, gradual and determined. Vegeta remained patient, confident of her eventual descent.

Halfway across the wire, small cheers under their breath became gradually louder as she swayed with purpose partially bent knees, distributing her mass and finding her center, keeping unnecessary pressure off her ankles.

Her partner blinked smoothly under dark brows as Yamcha whooped in echoed encouragement behind him. With only a mild twitch of her injured ankle giving any sign of faltering, Vegeta observed her continue, her chest held higher, swagger a bit bolder.

With a final carefully placed foot and her other touching a toe on the second platform, she cocked her head down with a side longed smirk as she managed to make it to the other side without fail. The small parting of his lips was the only outward indication of surprise that she had made it across successfully.

Unhooking the harness, Bulma practically sailed down the beam to the floor, her feet landing on the ground with triumphant flair, if her superior expression hadn't already said it all.

"You don't have to look so smug," Vegeta remarked. "Sit. Let me see your ankle." He instructed, taking her hand roughly and guiding her to the floor as the cheers of her success echoed.

"I think you owe me an apology." She preened, hoisting her foot in his face.

"For what?" He carefully unwrapped and rewrapped the bindings, assessing and prodding the raised, red skin with meticulous concentration.

"For doubting my abilities." If she felt any discomfort under his practiced hands, she didn't show it as she continued to lord her victory over him. "I told you, I never fall."

Vegeta ignored her comment as well as the others, who teased him for his false prediction. The jubilation died down, as the team made their way over to the lockers, glad to be given a rare half-day to relax. The bandage pulled tight, Vegeta glanced over his shoulder, hearing his name shouted from the far end of the gym.

"We're all going out tonight at our usual place. You should come, Bulma!" Chichi cheerfully declared before disappearing through the swinging door to change into plain clothes.

Putting the finishing touches to his handiwork, Vegeta looked up, feeling as though he was being watched, to the woman whose gaze had changed from vaingloriously confident to an unnerving unreadability. He held out his arm in good sportsmanship which she took, her gaze still piercing. He noted with her hand was still pleasant to hold.

"Aren't you going to say good job?" The statement escaped her mouth in a hush and he was transported back in an instant.

The whisper of her girlish laughter, the gleam in her eyes, the press of a friendly kiss on his cheek when they first met. Her hair was shorter then, her tongue sharper. He was the one that showed up last, rounding out their group dynamic. She glommed onto him like a beautiful parasite, burrowing under his skin and refusing to let go. The memories flew across his mind quickly, like a collection of movie clips he would have rather not revisited.

"Aren't you going to say good job?" She'd ask with that brazen smile of hers, fully aware of her skill with ego to match. She didn't need the praise. She said it just to be antagonizing. He never gave her the satisfaction of a response.

"Well?" The inflection in her voice asked more. He felt the pressure of her hand on his, a subtle reminder of how he used to play with fire. He recognized the look. Why are her eyes so damn blue?

He hadn't intended the clearing of his throat to sound so awkward as a change of subject seemed necessary. "You should go with us. To the bar. Take a night off from… whatever you do after practice." He offered, unsure of her answer.

"Are you going?" The look receded back, much to his relief.

"I seem to have to. To make sure none of them end up in a ditch. It would ruin our lineup." He replied flippantly. Her brows scrunched somewhat. It amused him to see that she couldn't quite tell that he was joking.

"How adult of you." Bulma gave a short chuckle. "I can't believe you guys still go bar hopping. Are you going to tell me to only drink light beer if I go?" She teased.

He couldn't help the tug at the corner of his lip. "I was going to suggest you only drink water." He countered wryly.


	4. More Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your help Rogue 1102 and Ambrosicl! You guys rock!

Chapter 4

“Another round of shots on Vegeta!” Yamcha called out, beaming through red-tinted cheeks. The girls at the table erupted in a fit of giggles, turning into obnoxious whoo-girls the more the alcohol seeped into their systems. Bulma wasn’t one to turn down free drinks yet eyed Vegeta curiously. She wasn't aware of any recent change on his part to generously allow the team to get drunk off his dime and wondered if perhaps he had actually changed for the better over the year and a half she was away. His soured face gave away that the benefit for the rest of the group appeared to be only one-sided.

“Why does he keep saying that?” She whispered loudly over the raucous noise of their troupe.

He let out a perturbed grunt as Yamcha grabbed the attention of their slim brunette waitress to place another order.

“There was an agreement. But the tab will stop sooner rather than later if he knows what’s good for him.” Vegeta warned, aiming a directed glare over to his tipsy, scar-faced teammate who balked once trapped under his threatening gaze then nodded with a clear acknowledgment that Vegeta’s forced patronage had ended. 

Bulma snickered as Yamcha threw his hands up in a truce, cheesy grin plastered as he returned to his beer. 

She shook her head, reminded of all the good times they had at the Red Ribbon Pub, their ragtag group of friends and coworkers winding down after practice once a month. All had seemed to have stayed the same while she was away. For her, being at the bar, like she was 19 again, was a pleasant collection of memories dotted with a few not so great ones. Seated at their favorite booth amid her favorite people, Bulma made the conscious effort to not think of any current responsibilities. She just wanted to blissfully wallow in the past, if only for one night.

At one end of the large table, Chichi was busy talking Goku’s ear off as he occupied himself with trying to erect a tower of sugar packets. Launch, Yamcha and Piccolo had moved in next to her, animatedly arguing about the latest superhero movie’s stunt work and which one of them would do better replicating performances. Bulma sat, chin perched at the heels of her hands as she licked the watermelon vodka droplets from her lips, keenly interested in the chatter of her teammates. Their joy was as intoxicating as the drinks. 

She felt Vegeta adjust subtly next to her. He was only an arm’s length away, small enough distance to reach out, lost in her visions of a more immature time, ready to indulge in the delusional happiness of the past. It would be nice to go back to how it was. They could all be silly friends again. Take risks. Make mistakes. The two of them could even...

No.

She stilled her snaking fingers she suddenly realized were unconsciously making their way over to the arm holding his own glass, swirling the contents absentmindedly, unaware of young Bulma’s stupid intentions of reliving old times. 

It was only when she drew her arms into herself quickly did he finally bring his attention back and observed her suspiciously before changing his expression to his more typical unreadable one. 

“It’s really cool you guys still do this once a month.” She said casually through a smile, attempting to gauge his attention by nudging him with her elbow.

“I’ve been told it’s important to take a rest day. Although, after getting shitfaced, some of us are going to need more than one to recuperate.” He said into his drink, swirling the dark liquid before taking a swig and indicating an eyebrow to Chi Chi, a giggling and hiccuping mess hanging onto Goku’s bicep while he attempted to steady her. 

She sat for a second, watching them be weirdly handsy for friends until they stopped talking entirely and began to kiss as if no one was watching. Well, that’s new. “So how long has that been going on?” She elbowed her partner with gusto and stunned raised brow.

“Weeks? Months? Don't know. Don't care.” He replied flippantly, eyeing the waitress as she carefully teetered the last shots of the night to their noisy table. Vegeta downed the green liquid the moment his fingers wrapped around the glass.

She hummed to herself, looking away from the adorable embrace of two of her friends in wistful longing. It was sweet to see their evident happiness, even if she wasn’t in the loop until moments before. Bulma smiled softly, wondering of all that she had missed even if their group’s members had all stayed the same. 

She watched with a soft chuckle as Piccolo and Yamcha attempted an arm wrestle with Launch preparing to best the winner when she heard the light scrape of a glass being pushed towards her, the neon green liquid sloshing against the curved opaque surface, distorting the outline of Vegeta's fingers as the drink came into view…

_  
She heard the dull scrape of the glass on the table pushed toward her and grinned. The neon pink alcohol swirled daintily as she touched his hand while picking it up. Holding it to her lips, a coy smile crossed her face as she observed him crookedly.  
_

_  
“Wanna try it?” She enticed, wiggling it in her slim fingers. Vegeta always looked so unamused.  
_

_  
“No. It’s too sweet.” He rejected and she pouted somewhat, raising it to her mouth, taking a sip with a fake sneer.  
_

_  
“Killjoy. It’s vanilla cupcake. If you tried it, I bet you’d like it.” She replied, with a slur before downing the rest in a satisfied burning exhale.  
_

_  
She leaned more into him, the drinks making her slightly more topheavy than she expected. Relishing in his cool hand on her warmed cheek, he lifted her chin with a single digit.  
_

_  
A moment passed before her brain could register his lips on hers, his tongue gliding only on her lower lip before they parted.  
_

_  
“There. I tried it. It’s still too sweet.” He leaned toward her ear as she nuzzled into his neck, holding on for balance, “It does taste better on you, though.”  
_

_  
Bulma’s eyes drifted closed, feeling safe against his chest but opened her heavy lids at the raucous howling from the rest of her teammates.  
_

_  
“Aw, Bulma and Vegeta.” Goku teased in a dopey grin from his place at Vegeta’s left only to have found himself unceremoniously on the floor in a drunken heap after Vegeta pushed him off his seat with a grunt.  
_

  
“ _Shut up,” Vegeta growled as he rolled his eyes, lifting himself and the clingy woman attached to his neck. With an arm around her waist for balance, they headed for the door. “Let’s get you home.” He whispered into her crown as she gripped his forearms with a groan in agreement...._

Her gaze refocused to the present when the green alcohol glinted under the lights above. She threw it back with a swig, giving him a thankful smile which he returned in a tense uptick of what appeared to be a smile back before looking off.

He took care of me. Held my hair when I threw up. She hadn’t gotten drunk like that in several years. She did appreciate his protective nature interwoven within his outwardly temperamental and harsh demeanor. A rare, kind gesture, expressed in privacy. Something to miss.

The soothing effect of the drink swam in her stomach with both a warming, pleasant recollection and a dreadful trepidation of the 25-pound secret at home. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked and she grinned wide, hoping he hadn't noticed her misplaced emotional turmoil moments before. 

“Yup. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while. I missed being with the group.” She admitted fondly. 

“I’m glad you could take a night off.” He admitted, glancing furtively to the side.

“Yeah, it’s nice of my parents to let me.” She joked and immediately regretted her choice of words as he slowly turned his gaze to observe her more keenly.

“Are you living with your parents?” He questioned after a few stifling seconds, the gears turning behind his dark eyes.

“Temporarily..” Bulma supplied cautiously. Not yet. Too soon. As he opened his mouth to question further, Yamcha made his presence known over Vegeta’s shoulder as he bumped into the man from behind.

“So how are the lovebirds doing?” Yamcha asked innocently, nearly tripping on his own feet as he clapped Vegeta on the back.

“We’re not together.” They both quickly said loudly in unison, Vegeta peeling Yamcha’s fingers from his body and looking in desperate need of personal space.

“Sorry. I was joking.” He said, raising his eyebrows in wonderment of what he stumbled into. Bulma gave a sigh of relief for the previous unpleasant discussion tabled for the moment. 

Vegeta rose from his seat suddenly, muttering something about getting a beer. He made it all of five steps before turning back.

“Do you want anything?” He directed, rather than offered.

“What?” She inquired, both her and Yamcha staring in confusion.

“I’m going to the bar. Do you want anything?” He asked again, more insistently while shifting with an uncomfortable gait. Bridging a gap, she surmised. How unexpected.

“No, thank you. I think I’ve had enough.”

He grunted as he turned, exiting quickly through the crowd. Yamcha appeared to relax with a slow whistling exhale, taking the empty seat next to her as she lost her dark-haired ex in the throng of bodies.

“You have a weird dynamic.” He proclaimed while nursing half a glass of dark beer in one hand and lounging his other on the back of the booth.

“It’s not weird.”

“Uh-huh. And offering to buy you a drink while simultaneously denying you guys are involved means-” he raised an eyebrow while letting the remainder of the sentence get lost in his glass.

“That he’s being friendly.” She insisted with a nudge to his shoulder.

“Friendly is one thing. The way you guys look at each other is another.”

“You’re presuming,” Bulma stated casually, picking at her nail cuticles, truly hoping he would just stop interrogating. Worried and intrusive friends don't stop prying, however.

“What I see is you’re still in love with him.” He cut to the chase, putting the now empty glass as if proving his point that he had gotten to the bottom of this pseudo-investigation into her personal life. 

Striking a nerve, her blue gaze focused on her dear, sweet, precariously-close-to-being-throttled Yamcha. “I’m not in love with him.”

“Sure. Hey, Bulma? What’s the longest river in Africa?”

She narrowed her gaze. “No. No jokes.”

“Denial.” He smirked roguishly.

“That is so unfunny.” She kneaded her fingers into the bridge of her nose while trying to force back the smile cracking through the seriousness, “I am not in denial of anything.”

Undeterred, he continued with a scoff, “You can fool yourself, but not me. I’ve known you for a long time. I’m not gonna deny it didn’t hurt a little when you fell for your rebound when we finally broke up.”

“I don't love him.” She enunciated, “You of all people should know I’m not the same as I was before. I’m not looking to relive an old fling. So drop it.”

Still unconvinced, he gave in to her threats. “Okay, you don't. But you are blind to his… whatever he does for you. I’m concerned about how he treats you. Especially during practice. He shouldn’t talk to you like that, B.”

“It’s all show. And strangely motivating. I know when it’s real. I’m not intimidated by him.”

“Guess he has to be nice to you. Considering.” Yamcha tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically. Bulma tried with every muscle fiber to not react to the impending direction the talk was going.

“Mhm.” She stared off at nothing. Please, let him be drunk enough to not ask.

“So you never told me. How did he take it?” There it is. Fuck.

It took a full minute with him gradually changing from subtle inquisition to stunned silence for her to respond. “I haven't told him yet.”

“Jesus, Bulma! Why?” He exclaimed in a hiss, restraining the current high pitch to his shocked tone.

“It’s complicated.” 

“And you’re making it more complicated by hiding. I mean, I’d be pissed but him- he’s dynamite with the fuse already lit. The longer you wait-”

“I know, okay.” She admitted with her face in her hands. She had already gone over the excruciating details of every possible scenario from him accepting in full without hesitation (unlikely) to him dying of a heart attack the moment the words processed through his skull (hopefully, also unlikely). She really didn’t need more guilt on top of losing sleep over something that should have been brought up day 1. 

“He should know. It’s only gonna get worse-” Worry flitted across his face until he shut his mouth, wide-eyed when the man in question silently made himself known with a distinct throat clearing and a scowl. 

“More secrets, Bulma?” He queried, arms crossed and waiting.

She was unaware of how dry her throat had become when she tried to swallow.

“We should talk.” She managed, getting up and moved past Yamcha who mouthed ‘sorry’ sympathetically. Now was as good a time as any, even if it was going to be by the worst discussion she probably would ever have. She dreaded every second.

Vegeta unhooked his arms while gesturing to the door. “Lead the way.”

Bulma held her head high despite feeling very much like she was leading herself into the lion’s den.

The alley at the side of the establishment thankfully was empty. The heavy bar door slammed sending a jolt to her nerves at the sound. His arms returned to their place tight across his chest, a cue he used often to express his irritation despite the casual tone in his voice. “Sounds like you both had an interesting conversation.”

Biting her lip, she tried to delay the inevitable. “Look, I didn't want to tell you like this. We shouldn’t have been talking about it so openly-”

“Say it.” 

“It’s complicated, I didn’t think you-” 

“Just say it.” He directed, eerily calm.

“You seem to already know.” She said in a hush.

She watched him blink once, slowly, as each syllable breathed out between his teeth. “I want… to hear it… from your mouth.”

He wanted to know. 

Okay. 

With a final concentrated breath, she said it.

“I had a kid. A son.” She watched as his expression remained unchanged. “He’s yours.”

There was no way to let him down gently, even if he already knew. The impact of two words caused a physical stun effect, with a mild twitch in his jaw, his arms gradually losing their steeled grip across his chest and the immediate drain of all color from his face. 

As he remained momentarily speechless, Bulma recognized the expression all too well. It was the same identical, mirrored look she had when she felt sick the first few weeks, the two pink lines, the sudden reality hitting her without mercy like it was currently for him. She understood that look. 

He was absolutely scared shitless. 


	5. Half You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a crazy turn of events for the world. But I hope everyone is staying safe during these unusual times. 
> 
> I'd like to thank Rogue_1102 and VagusVagus for being my guiding light through this chapter. Love you both to pieces

The air hung still between them as she said the words. Only the dull buzzing of the overhanging lamp illuminating the alleyway permeated his eardrums, or was that the thrum of his brain synapses firing in a busy procession behind his eyes, trying to catch up to the three fragmented sentences that passed her lips.

“I had a kid. A son. He’s yours.”

He distinctly felt his eye twitch, then remembered to breathe. 

But the breath came out as a humor snort.

“No, it’s not.” He coughed into a rare gravely laugh.

Her face should have broken out into a chuckle. She should have laughed, too. It was a joke. A terrible, terrible joke. She could do that. He remembered her being funny once. Yet, when he looked back up, she was more serious than before. “I’m not kidding. _He’s_ yours.”

The hint of a smile stayed, a morbid continuation of the sick lark at his expense. He’d take it if it meant discrediting the truth. Although now, he couldn't quite feel his feet. “Fuck off, no it’s not.” 

He watched as she took in a steady inhale, slow and weighty. Her blue eyes shifted uncomfortably from him to the ground. The jest had waned and all that remained was the unbelievable revelation.

“There’s no way.” He remarked in a low, defensive tenor. 

“I understand this is diffic-” Bulma whispered.

He shook his head vigorously. “No. It’s not possible.”

“Of course it's possible. It happened. It's done.”

“No.” He refuted. 

She pursed her lips, trying to get through. “I know it’s hard for you to believe. These… things… happen.” Her face puckered as if she was retasting a bitter event once again and looked at him, expecting him to taste it, too.

“Weren’t you on the pill?” His thoughts frantically reaching for moments he saw her ingest the medication each morning. The air he took in felt thinner with each inhale.

Vegeta wanted to pull back the words before they even left his mouth as her eyes shot daggers at his inflection. “Don't even _hint_ an insinuation that I'm solely to blame for this. You had every chance to wear condoms. Besides, that's not the point. I have a son, he’s yours, now you know.” She replied curtly. 

Taking a step back, he pinched his lips together as his brows knitted. “It’s not mine.” He responded adamantly. This isn’t happening. It’s not real.

“I can assure you, he’s absolutely half you. I see that stubborn look on his face in the exact way you're giving me now.” 

The crease at his forehead receded immediately at the thought it was shared with someone else. “No. Just no.” He replaced it with indignant rage. “If you think I’m raising a goddamn finger for this, you are sorely mistaken. I am not responsible for it!”

She scoffed with an exaggerated eye roll. “Oh, there’s the selfish dick I remember so fondly.”

A sneer pulled his lip up over his teeth. “You’re one to talk. You are the most materialistic narcissist I’ve ever met. It was a wonder you were able to keep the lights on in your apartment with how fast you blew your paycheck every month on stupid shit. How you’ve managed to take care of someone other than yourself is unbelievable. If you’re coming to me for child support, I’m not contributing.” 

With a hand on her hip, he glared at the audacity she had of pointing a finger at him in admonishment. “Look, jerk, I’m not like that anymore! And I’m not asking you for anything-”

“Good. ‘Cause I owe you nothing.”

“I should have known you’d be super mature about this.”She spat sarcastically.

Bulma flung her hands up and turned her back to him, pinching her eyes shut in frustration.

Clenching his jaw, he continued his tirade of vitriol. “I know the kid’s not mine. You would have told me. You would have been an actual decent person by telling me before now. For fuck’s sake, we’ve been working together for weeks! You weren’t even going to tell me now!”

“I was waiting for the right moment.” She responded to the wall adjacent to her.

“And when would that have been?” He pressed.

“I don't know. Just not now.” She replied in a hush. He thought he heard a distinct sniffle. 

“This whole time. You lied the whole time.”

She finally turned to face him. “No. I didn't lie. I withheld. I want to be very clear about that.”

“You’re right, that makes it so much better.” He scoffed. “Why did you hide it? You evidently told the others.”

“Only Yamcha knows.” She disclosed and when he held out his hands indicating she elaborate, she added, “It was an emergency. I haven’t told anyone else. I swear.”

“Fucking Yamcha.” Backstabber. He kneaded his pointer and thumb into his eyes for perspective. Or a way to calm down. Of course, she told her first ex. He was evidently more worthy of the knowledge of the existence of a kid that was hi-

“I told him because I knew I could-” She stopped abruptly.

“What? Trust him? Confide? What the hell, Bulma. If it’s mine, then I should have known. And well before now.” The more it became clear she had her own reasons to keep her secrets that very much involved him, the more he felt something he vehemently tried to avoid. Being hurt by someone he cared for. The way he had felt for her ebbed over time and with this divulgence, he’d be damned if he was going to let her affect him further. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I-” She tried to take the precarious steps to him. 

Vegeta shook his head fervently again as he tried to swallow the saliva lodged in his throat. “I can't deal with this. It’s not mine. I know it's not mine.” He proclaimed, inwardly washing his hands of the ordeal and her at the same time. He was done. 

“Vegeta…” She said, it coming out as more of a plea. He felt ill hearing his name on her tongue just then.

Holding up a finger, he leered under dark lashes. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Please… wait...” She called as he made his way back inside the bar, back to the booth.

He didn’t care when the rest of the table, save the private duo making out at the far end, slowly raised their heads in a tipsy stupor upon his sudden return. He didn’t care hearing her hurried steps behind him. There was only one thing he was interested in: the DD for the night. Completely ignoring the fact that the couple were busily investigating each other’s tonsils with fervor, he puts some pent up rage behind the kick to the wood under the ass in question. 

“Take me back to the gym. I need my car.” He demanded with another kick to the side panel as Goku shot away brusquely from ChiChi’s lip-locking embrace. The younger man stared wide-eyed and red-faced at his enraged teammate.

Goku held his hand out, indicating to an annoyed and pouty ChiChi, adjusting her shirt and her hair in the process. “What, now?” He questioned, looking thoroughly cockblocked. 

“Yes. Get your ass up.” Vegeta spat, refusing to even turn in the direction of the door as he heard it slam behind him. He assumed she came back in to finish what they started. He had no intention of speaking with her further, if at all.

A heavy head sluggishly lifted off Launch’s shoulder blade, who also was perceiving the world in a sideways glance. Yamcha passed slow, blinking eyes to both Vegeta and Bulma in alarm. “What’s going on?” 

The progress of awareness finally made it from his addled mind to his mouth. “Shit,” Yamcha uttered with a guilty look. “I’m sorry, Bulma.”

She held her hand up placatingly. “It’s fine. Don't worry about it.”

Grabbing the taller man by the arm, Vegeta escorted Goku past his ex without further acknowledgment. “What’s happening? Why are you so mad?” Goku attempted while fishing for his keys in his jean’s pocket.

“Let’s go,” Vegeta muttered, hand on the long brass handle.

“Running away again, Vegeta?” Bulma attempted. She was goading him, a familiar tactic she used to use to get him to engage. Not this time. Not anymore. 

He turned and leered acrimoniously. “You showed me how.” 


	6. Absence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to give a big thank you to Rogue_1102 and Ruthlesscupcake for the beta on this. You guys rock!

He clung to her like glue, even seated in his high chair, banging his little fists on the tray and looking up expectantly with big blue eyes.

"Mama." Trunks held out his chubby arms to her in impatient expectation, bubbling spit like an angry crab at being confined to the seat again every time he wanted to eat. Yet Bulma knew it was the only way to feed him without getting breakfast, or lunch, or dinner for that matter, all over the floor.

"I know, baby. Hold on. Mama's got oatmeal for you." Swirling the soft mixture with a green silicone spoon, Bulma brought a sampling to her mouth to test for heat and grimaced at the gritty texture then thought better and flashed a forced grin.

"Oh-me-oh." He attempted with toddler linguistic skill and a happy smile. She placed the bowl of globular, off-yellow mush in front of him and carefully spooned it into his eager mouth, unintentionally smearing more on the sides of his face than on his tongue from his inability to cooperate and fidgety body.

"Mama." He gurgled through yummy noises and dribbled bits of mushy oatmeal down his front, obscuring the cartoon dog on his shirt with the words 'I wuff you'. Bulma wiped his messy cheeks with a clean rag she had slung over her shoulder, months of trial and error in full effect.

"No, no, no, no." She chided gently as a chubby fist rushed out to take hold of the utensil for himself. She shook her head with a snicker as his wide eyes began to well with fake tears, mouth pursing in a pout.

"Good morning, dear." Bulma lifted an eyebrow briefly to the cheery greeting while taking note of the immediate retreat of tears vanishing at his grandmother's appearance.

"Morning, Mom." She replied as she watched her mother refill the coffee, set it to drip and pulled down a mug from the cupboard.

"You look more tired than usual." The blond woman's tone lilting up an octave in concern while ruffling the purple mane of her grandson fondly. He responded with a stubborn 'no', swiping fruitlessly at the hand on his scalp.

"Be nice." Bulma gently reminded, as another spoonful of breakfast glided into his waiting mouth, half of it landing on his bib. "I'm fine. Just had a frustrating evening."

"Oh? Going out not as fun as it used to be?"

"That part was nice. The last hour wasn't." She added through a sigh. Feeling her mother's pressing inquisition under furrowed blond brows, she groaned in admittance. "I told him."

As her forehead raised in surprise, Panchy clapped her hands together gleefully to the bemusement of her daughter. "Wonderful! When's he coming over?"

Bulma held the spoon aloft and regarded the older woman in confusion. "Mom, he's not. He didn't exactly… he took the news about as well as expected." She stated, hoping her mother would get the hint.

"It's a shock, I agree. But if only he could see this sweet, precious, perfect little angel…" She cooed in the baby's direction, pressing his plump cheeks between her hands as he protested with all the might he could muster.

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Yes, I should just shove Trunks into his face and say 'love me because we make such cute children.'" She replied sarcastically, scraping the last of the oatmeal from the bowl into the toddler's baby bird-like maw.

The look she received from the matriarch held nauseatingly hopeful agreement. "Exactly!"

She rolled her eyes dismissively. "Your optimism is sometimes too pure for me."

"I think he'll come around."

"And I think he's going to try and avoid me the rest of my life." Bulma retorted airily.

The older woman poured two cups of fresh coffee, passing one across the table which Bulma gratefully took. She blew on the steam as her mother took a seat next to her.

"How could he do that? You're my favorite girl who made my favorite boy." Panchy resumed touseling the child's soft hair. Bulma scoffed lightly, unconvinced, when she felt her mother's caring hand on her own. "You made a mistake. Everyone does. I know you can make this right if it's what you want. Don't give up."

Bulma hummed lightly at the hopeless romantic her mother was, finding no use in informing her of Vegeta's understandably harsh dismissal. There were so many instances that she could have made a better choice with. With hindsight, she knew the error of her actions. Yet, the past was impossible to change and as much as she would have liked the broken pieces of her past to magically mend, the shattered remnants would take time. It had taken her nearly two years to come to terms with her situation. It was entirely possible, due to Vegeta's more defensive outlook on life, he would take as much if not more time to come to a conclusion on his own.

"Thanks, Mom. I'll consider it." Bulma acquiesced vaguely, lifting herself from the table to get ready for the day.

Stepping into workout shorts and a logoed tank top, Bulma wondered what her daily practices would look like, now that he knew about their child.

She didn't get to find out his immediate reaction post-disclosure, however, as the morning dragged on into midday of training and the absence of one of their teammates caused a confusing rift within the gym. She finally got her response when Roshi entered and declared her partner would take the rest of the week off, eliciting questioning stares in her direction from the rest of the group, inquiries of which she was not quite ready to answer just yet.

* * *

"Seriously, Yamcha. Pick me up right!" Bulma hissed through her teeth as the background music to the set was turned off once again. She heard Chichi sigh loudly again behind her and could practically feel the judgemental eyes from the aerialist as she sat crosslegged in the same spot for the past hour being DJ, her finger on the play and stop buttons of the ancient soundsystem.

Rather than turn around and give her another irritated look, Bulma focused her attention back to her temporary replacement partner. Yamcha had an equally vexed expression across his face as he rubbed an arm over his sweaty forehead and shook out his black hair.

"I'm trying Bulma, okay. It's a little hard when I haven't done this with you before." He groused, taking a swig of water and wiping his hands with a dry cloth.

All week without Vegeta felt a little off-balance for most of the troupe. His perfectionist attitude coupled with snarky jabs were what kept them on task if not to keep him off their backs. Without him, no amount of positive reinforcement from their captain Goku made up for the counterbalance of tough love.

The past afternoon was no different in frustration over Bulma lacking her partner while still needing to get several routines down. With Vegeta being about her height, they established synchronicity that didn't seem to gel just right with the other men in her troupe. While Yamcha was the first to volunteer to help, the specificity of the choreographed set was made more difficult for him to adapt to and seemed to be grating on his last nerve in trying to mimic his absent teammate.

Bulma rolled her shoulder and rubbed the small of her back that was beginning to ache where Yamcha would lift, toss her airborne, she'd catch the trapeze bar, do several timed flips and swings before dropping into his waiting stance. The issue lay with her return where he would grasp her too hard around her middle instead of her hips and guide her to the ground. She was sure she was going to bruise like an overripe peach from being manhandled.

"It's the descent. You have to time it better." She reiterated for the third time, gesturing with her hands as if that would get the point across more effiectively.

"Look, I don't know the routine. I'm trying to work with you, but you can't keep yelling at me. I'm sorry I'm not-" Yamcha began before being cut off by the light click of the metal entrance door closing where the attention of the three turned to the newcomer.

"Vegeta?" Chichi said rather quizzically, getting up off the floor and cocking her head to one side.

Regarding him, both Yamcha and Bulma shifted on their feet and drew their brows together.

"What are you doing here?" Yamcha inquired.

"My week was up so I thought I'd come back for a practice warmup." He replied dryly. "I didn't expect anyone training here so late, though." He added incredulously.

"Your week leaving us in the lurch, you mean." Yamcha retorted with a scoff.

"Call it what you want," Vegeta responded unperturbed as he made subtle eye contact with his blue hair partner.

As her gaze stayed centered on him, he shifted focus from her to the side then back again. He jutted his chin toward the entrance door when his gaze finally stayed on her for more than a second.

"I would like to talk to you." He requested firmly.

From his stance, Bulma noticed he looked clearly uncomfortable but not angry like the last time she had seen him. That's a good sign, she surmised.

"Sure." She nodded as he opened the door and stepped out into the mildly humid evening air.

Leaning against the shady part of the hangar and placing one ankle over the other, she watched him do the same, albeit more tensely with a small pulse in his jawline as he spoke.

"I had some time to think." He began.

"Okay." She responded warily.

He brought his dark eyes to hers with a seriousness she hadn't really seen in a while. "You can't try and justify what you did. I don't want to hear it. I just need direct, honest answers."

She was truly surprised that he had even come back after a week but actually wanting a dialogue was completely unexpected. Wanting the conversation to go better than last time, she nodded her head and agreed to his particular terms. "I can do that."

"When did this happen?"

Surmising the 'this' he was talking about, she considered how to answer the question. "Well, he's a little over one now."

She watched his face pinch slightly, the gears working. "And before you start doing the mental math, I was pregnant… when we were still together. I didn't know, okay. Didn't find out 'til a couple of weeks after we broke up." She added candidly.

"But you knew. After we called it quits." He said in a low tenor as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

She exhaled slowly. "Yea. I thought it was the flu." She admitted.

There was a long pause between them and enough silence, she could somewhat make out the grinding of his teeth. She almost got the point of inquiring if he had any more questions when he spoke again as her mouth opened.

"Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you think I should have known?"

He didn't look at her and said it more to the ground but she could hear the hurt in his voice. At the time, their sordid romance was anything but romantic. Passionate, yes. Yet the fighting over nothing one minute to end up in each other arms the next lead to a rocky foundation. Despite all the problems between them, however, Bulma couldn't say she didn't respect him or care for him dearly. He was her friend first before her lover. It pained her to have done him wrongly.

"I was angry. Bitter. I know it's not anywhere close to reasonable but that's how I felt at the time." She replied sincerely, unsure if he believed her.

He exhaled roughly through his nose. "A boy. What's his name?"

"Trunks." She said with a smile.

This took him by surprise as he glanced up with a wince of distaste. "That's a terrible name."

Bulma finally let out a small chuckle for the first time in a week. She placed her hands on her hips with a smirk. "I don't believe I asked for your opinion."

His brows remained drawn but the look of dislike subsided as he muttered, "If I had one, I wouldn't have let you give him such a stupid fucking name."

"He looks like a Trunks. So there." She stuck out her tongue, humored at his reaction to her progeny's namesake.

The tension subsided for the moment, he pressed on. "Why did you come back? Why didn't you just stay gone?" He asked more out of numbed curiosity.

Bulma inched a bit closer, feeling out the situation and glad he appeared to be less hostile than he was a week ago.

"I'm trying to make things right. I can't take back what I did. It was pretty fucking selfish what I did. I made a mistake. A huge one. But I'm trying to set things right. Now." She put forth with all truthfulness she could muster.

Vegeta kicked at the pebbles at his feet absentmindedly, appearing as if he was chewing on her words.

"Is he happy?" He asked in a murmur.

Bulma nodded, a serene expression spread across her face. "Yea. He's a very happy kid. He smiles all the time. He has a great laugh."

He smirked at that with a loud snort. "Then I know he's not mine."

She pushed her shoulder playfully into his with a snicker as he nudged back in reciprocation.

"I want to see him." He said with purpose.

"Okay. When works for you?"

He thought for a brief moment. "Shouldn't we work around your schedule? Seems yours is probably more full than mine. When's your next day off?"

"Tuesday. I have to take him to the doctor." She hesitated an offer for him to join them at the appointment. The man had difficulty in committing moving in together. A first time 'meet and greet' while in an unfamiliar medical situation may be more than he currently could handle. "Nothing serious. Just a check-up in the morning. We're free in the afternoon." She suggested.

He grunted lightly and backed off the wall they were both leaning on before heading back toward the door to the hangar. "I'll take a break. How's 2?"

"2 is good. He'll be up from his nap then." Bulma grinned, pleased with how their meeting had gone. She entered the meet up in her phone planner and made a personal note to prepare her parents for it. When she had finished, she looked up and noticed he hadnt actually left and was standing at the open door observing her with an unreadable, but distant, expression.

"You okay?" She queried.

He shook his head at being addressed and nodded once.

With another grunt, he added, "See you tomorrow for practice," then had departed into the gym, the metal door rattling the hangar's aluminum siding.

Unsure of how the lunch date would go, Bulma was at least happy that they were on speaking terms again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Author's Note- May 26, 2020
> 
> What a crazy year so far, right? This story has been in the back of my mind for a while. I was in the process of finishing out my last semester of school and am relieved to announce I finally received my bachelor's degree. On top of everything else this year has thrown in the way thus far, I'm happy with how this chapter turned out. Now that I'm done with class pressure hopefully I can get future chapters out sooner. Thank you all for the support, comments, and taking the time to read. Creative writing has been an incredible outlet and I appreciate everyone that wants to share it with me. Hope you and yours are safe and well.
> 
> ~Blackswans22
> 
> Find me on twitter where I guess I have an account now. I love to talk about fics and DBZ. Feel free to message me :)
> 
> blackswans22fanfics
> 
> blackswans2222


	7. Purple Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who posts after 6 months? This chick. 
> 
> Happy reading! ;)

The brick walkway made a noisy clacking under his trainers as Vegeta made his way to the blue and white front door. Bulma had asked him if he still remembered where her parents lived. Tendril-like memories stretched out across his mind as he looked up at the grey and white cottage style two-story. 

He recalled sneaking into her room through her bottom floor window in the dead of night. He had broken a garden lantern or two, maybe trampled through a bed of cosmos in a hurry to climb through before her parents noticed. Her hushed giddy voice, full of exhilaration as they spent hours in her bed like carefree early 20 year olds, partner athletes just in it for the fun. Her home was like his home before she moved out into an apartment, before they got too attached, before the yelling, the anger, the breakup. 

Yes, he remembered where it was. The two of them may have matured 4 years since then but her parents and that house were something he could admit he missed after their relationship dissolved. He understood why she could move back in with them. Her parents were good people.

He raised his fist to knock then paused, his jaw muscles working as he stared at the brass door knocker. Was this a mistake? Couldn’t be his kid, right? His fist held aloft and vertical to the wood, he wondered if it would be better to just leave so he wouldn't have to drag himself over the threshold. His brows cinched. What if the boy didn’t like him?

Breath caught at his lips, he startled when the door opened suddenly. 

“Hey. You’re early.” Bulma smiled warmly despite the touch of nervous energy in her demeanor, present in her fingers that scratched lightly at the wooden door frame. 

“I could leave and come back.” He replied flatly, wondering if he was bearing the same vibe. It was hard for him to internally admit he was apprehensive of the whole thing. Evidently, they both were. Wouldn’t back out now.

She chuckled and clicked her tongue, opening the door wider. “Come in. We’re just setting down for lunch.”

She led him through the foyer that appeared unchanged. Despite an almost 2 year lapse since the last time he’d been in the house, the walls were still covered in family photos, an arrangement of fresh flowers from Bulma’s mother’s garden in the same ugly yellow and orange vase at the entryway, the wood flooring with scuffs in the same places that still clicked with every step just as before. The only real difference he noticed was a collection of block toys littering the floor, a rain slicker, much too small for an adult, hung on a coatrack and the light permeation of baby powder on the air. 

He stepped over small red shoes with velcro buckles in the hallway and stared far too long at them that Bulma had to touch his arm to refocus. A noise carried through the open foyer and that mere sound stilled his footsteps. 

“Are you okay?” Bulma glanced over her shoulder, gauging his reaction. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied tersely, which came off more tense than intended. He rounded the corner into the kitchen. The large open breakfast nook held a spread of sandwiches and lemonade where both her parents were seated, a purple-haired child between them. With scrutinizing eyes, Vegeta assessed the toddler.

There he was. A boy as she described in a dark blue and white flannel shirt, teddy bear buttons down the front and a blue cat-eared hat on his head, a violet tuft peeking out beneath it, sat behind a tray table piled with bite-size cucumbers and crackers, some mashed between his pudgy fingers.

His wide blue eyes scanned the new occupants, searching, and fell on his mother, eliciting a happy squeal and outstretched chubby arms. 

“Mama.” The child called, his focus entirely on her. As she strode across the room cooing at the toddler, Vegeta observed the child from a distance. The kid was hers, for sure. Her eyes, her straight hair. The color even came from her side. Despite the salt and pepper from age, her father once had a light purple shade in the older photographs displayed around the house. All in all, Vegeta felt very little similarity with the child. It’s entirely possible it wasn’t his. Wariness still present, the tension ebbed somewhat as he took an empty chair at the table. 

“Would you like something to eat?” Bulma held a plate of chicken salad sandwiches between them as she sat down to his left.

“Sure.” He replied, resolving to be mannered until the appropriate time to leave. 

The boy watched the plate of food shift under Vegeta’s hand and grunted with irritation as he attempted to fight his restraints to reach it. His mother tsked, offering up string cheese and soft crackers as a substitute. Vegeta mildly smirked at the tyke’s boldness. Bulma appeared to have figured out the parenting thing. The boy seemed to be adequately dressed, had boundaries enforced, well-fed. For that fact, he’d give her credit. More than he’d expected himself to do in the situation. 

“He needs more protein.” He heard Bulma remark to no one in particular and her own mother hummed in agreement. Vegeta assumed this kind of chatter was probably normal. Fussing over meals or clothing or toys for the toddler inanely, like running through mental checklists out loud. 

“I wonder if he's able to really chew more solid foods, dear.” Her father added between bites of his own sandwich.  Bulma replied airily about something else while Vegeta’s mind wandered away from the mindless conversation of which he did not feel intimately a part of. 

He recalled something similar somewhere in his childhood with his family. Remembering how he had devoted so much of his own time raising his kid brother made the edges of his eyes crease with the unpleasant memories. He wondered for a moment what they were all doing now. The last time he had even seen Tarble was…

“So, Vegeta, how’s practice coming? Almost ready for the new season?” He heard in the background of his thoughts in a high-pitched, cheerful feminine tone.

At the mention of his name, he brought his attention back to Panchy and swallowed what was currently turning to cud in his mouth without realizing he had been chewing mechanically. 

“The team’s doing well. It should be a good season.” He replied, feeling no reason to expound any further.

He twitched with startled agitation as a series of loud bangs on a plastic surface diverted attention to the impatient red-faced youth, who was busily smashing cucumbers and crackers repeatedly into a green and yellow paste. Vegeta watched as the boy’s face construed to a familiar pouty scowl.

“He wants something else,” Panchy suggested soothingly as she rose from the table to the pantry, passing Trunks fully immersed in a fitful howl. 

Bulma cooed as she attempted to clean off the remainder of food scraps of the squirming child. Trunks glared, eyebrows pulled cross with that unnerving familiar scowl again.

“What about peaches,” he heard the older woman say, muffled by the pantry door.   


“No,” Bulma replied with a grunt as she fashioned a clean bib around his chubby neck. “He doesn't like those, remember.”

Vegeta’s gaze flitted between Bulma and Panchy, noticing in all the commotion of trying to pacify an irate toddler, the entirety of the back and forth occurred almost as if he wasn’t in the room. The child kept squealing and squirming. He really just wanted things to go back to being somewhat quiet. 

Without thinking, he blurted, “pears?” 

“Hm?” Bulma queried as she glanced over curiously.

“Do you have pears?” He suggested more directly.

“I think so.” He heard Panchy respond, seemingly unaware of who posed the question.

With a container of the mashed fruit brought to the table, Trunks happily, and silently, took every bite with glee. When the first container finished, Bulma opened a second as she smiled, thankful for the quiet as last.

“Ugh, I hate pears. But he can’t get enough.” She said, scooping the last of it into her son’s mouth. “How did you know he’d want it?” She wondered with a raised, amused eyebrow. 

Vegeta cocked his head, scrutinizing the mannerisms of the boy. The way his eyes cut across the table, and the scowl. The same sort of traits he saw in himself. Despite all the physical characteristics that divided them, he could actually see facets of himself in the brat. 

The food preferences clinched it. Without any further doubt, he knew the tantrumed ball of purple hair and baby fat had to be his own. The stunning revelation sunk to the pit of his stomach. He felt Bulma’s eyes on him as the color slowly drained from his face and the room felt suddenly smaller.

“You like pears, don't you?” She said, understanding dawning on her. 

It was too much to handle. Vegeta suddenly lifted himself from the table to the alerted looks of the other adults. This child was his son. He was sure. Fuck.

“Vegeta, wait.” Bulma sputtered for a second as he turned and walked to the front hall and out the door, desperately needing some air, suddenly claustrophobic. 

He took a seat on the red brick garden edging just to the right of the front door to clear his thoughts. After a few minutes with the anxious energy gradually subsiding, he heard the portal lightly open then close. He didn’t need to look up to know who was sidling up, cross-legged beside him.

“So,” Bulma began, drawing it out, “that went well.”

Vegeta grunted disapprovingly, grinding a small weed coming up between the grout and paving stone beneath his shoe. 

It took a good 5 minutes of silence, listening to the birds chirp overhead as they flew from tree to tree, for Bulma to hum softly to herself and glance over. She leaned back on her hands with an air of reflection. “You know, I had no idea what to expect when you’d show up. Or even  _ if _ . For what it’s worth, I appreciate you coming over and -”

“I’m not cut out for this.” He interrupted. “I’m not ready. I didn't want this to happen this way. I’m not a father.” He said adamantly. 

“I get it. It’s a lot to take in. I’m still getting used to being a mom and he's already one. This is new and scary and… I’m not asking you to do anything that you don't want to.” 

When he didn't react further, Bulma sighed as she took a second to collect her thoughts. “Vegeta, If all I get from you is that we only work together, that’s fine. I can live with that. What I couldn’t live with was you not knowing. I understand not telling you was a shitty thing to do. I wanted to make it right. I’ll be fine with whatever you choose. Honest.”

In an effort to find some semblance of direction, he looked at her smiling empathetic face. She didn’t look to be a parent of a one-year-old. She appeared perpetually youthful and beautiful as before. Yet, in her eyes, he could tell she had just grown up. He realized they both had in their own way. He could adjust. 

“Where do we go from here?” He asked, mentally accepting to meet her halfway.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to help. What do you need?” 

She looked pensive and softly smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

Nodding with a grunt of consideration, Vegeta rose and glanced back at the house where his son was inside. His son. It would take time to get used to that. 

The boy reminded him of his younger brother of whom he had no connection with anymore. There was a stack of envelopes in the back of his sock drawer with the careful script of someone under ten then teens, letters all addressed to him, opened and read, but all unreplied. There remained a bitterness from the difficulties in his youth, and with lingering anger, he had kept his distance from his family for years. 

In some way, he still wanted to know how they all fared. If his father still held him accountable for leaving. If his mother was still alive. If his brother grew up well without him. Vegeta considered his son in the situation. With determined consideration, he concluded he wouldn't leave the boy to fend for himself without a father, no matter how unprepared he currently was.

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Amartbee 


End file.
